good afternonon

Amma's voice crackles through the phone from Chennai. "Good afternoon, beta. The monsoon hits different this year." I smile at her typo in the family chat, picturing her hunt-and-peck typing. Thousands of miles away, yet her warmth reaches me completely. She's telling me about the old house, how neighbors gathered despite rain, sharing stories like they had for generations. "You're irresistible, you know," she jokes about my success abroad. I've earned enough to help, to honor her sacrifice. But sitting here, I realize true wealth isn't measured. It's this connection, this invisible thread binding me to Chennai's humid streets, to voices that shaped who I am, to the community that holds my roots.